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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263111">You Won't Believe What Happens Next!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOrdinaryTrashcan/pseuds/AnOrdinaryTrashcan'>AnOrdinaryTrashcan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), College Student Stiles, Journalist Stiles Stilinski, M/M, More tags to be added, Stiles runs a satire website, Tagging as I go, author doesn't know how to tag, but it's like stupid accurate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:34:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOrdinaryTrashcan/pseuds/AnOrdinaryTrashcan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a part-time (probably closer to full-time, to be honest) job writing for a supernatural clickbait website of his own creation, "Nemeton News". To him, it's all unbelievable satire. However, once he starts answering some oddly specific questions in a weekly advice column and gets abducted from his room in the middle of the night, he finds out that he's stumbled into something much deeper.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Won't Believe What Happens Next!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! This is probably the first thing I've written for fun &amp; not school for at least a good few years. I wrote this first chapter about a year ago &amp; insecurity &amp; lack of motivation let it sit in my google drive since. But! I've decided to come back &amp; actually write the rest, &amp; I hope you'll enjoy it!</p>
<p>A couple notes about this AU-<br/>1. Not super consequential, but Derek is aged down a couple years. Stiles is 19 here &amp; Derek will be about 23.<br/>2. Stiles is unaware of the supernatural world.<br/>3. There's probably a lot more notes I should leave here but I can't remember any of them, so.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Stiles squints at the screen of his laptop before typing out one last sentence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>And so, gals, ghouls, and every ghastly thing in between, I hope you can make use of these five tricks to dispel that cloudiness from your apparitional forms and give you that wonderful see-through shine you’ve always wanted!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hitting save, he closes everything down and pulls out his phone, setting an alarm for 12 as a reminder to post the newest article to his supernatural news site, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nemeton News</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It had started out as a dumb joke between him and Scott a few years ago, just a blog that had slowly accumulated more and more followers until Stiles figured he may as well move it to its own website, because if this is what he chose to dedicate his time to, he may as well try to make some money off of it too. It wasn’t necessarily a career (he didn’t make nearly enough off of it for that) but it did well enough to get him some extra spending money, at least. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, it probably took up more of his time than it really should have, but people liked it! Plus, of course, Stiles liked doing it! And yeah, maybe he had to hold off on doing some homework to keep up with his regular posting schedule, but he was still passing all of his classes! He still qualified for his scholarship! It was fine, really, and he didn’t want to take on any other writers, as much as his dad seemed to think he should. Yeah, maybe the website kept expanding, and Stiles had added a couple new columns, but he couldn’t risk lowering the quality his readers had come to expect with the unknown variable of hiring other writers. Along with his normal three times a week article posting, he had also begun a weekly supernatural horoscope, and the newest addition, Mr. Mischief, an advice column for the inexplicably large amount of oddly specific questions that people left in the comments of his articles. Five things a week wasn’t too bad, right? It was totally manageable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It really was a growing and flourishing phenomenon, enough that Stiles had even been able to start selling merch. The extra money was very nice, and the thrill of seeing someone wearing a shirt with a logo that he had designed himself, scribbling in the margins of his notes in class rather than actually listening to the probably very important lecture going on around him, was probably one of the best things to ever happen to him.  Of course, the stranger he saw wearing the shirt had no idea that Stiles was the one who had come up with it, because Stiles never shared any personal information in the articles or on the website itself. He had been 16 when he started </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nemeton News</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and, having a sheriff for a father, knew all about the dangers of putting all your information out on the internet, where anyone could see it, especially as a minor. Now, three years later, at the age of 19, he just didn’t see the need to do a face reveal. He didn’t even list the articles under his own name, opting, instead, to list all the authors as terrible Halloween puns, such as “Myra Gret” and “Barry D’Lyve”. His advice column came close to being his real given name, as “mischief” came close, phonetically, to the horror of a name that is Mieczyslaw. The only place on the page that really had any actual information was the tiny script at the bottom that listed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nemeton News </span>
  </em>
  <span>as a copyright of M. Stilinski.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Altogether, it’s the most rewarding thing Stiles is doing right now, and with its growth and expansion, maybe he soon won’t even need the creative writing degree he’s pursuing to get him a real, adult job. He can just write clickbait articles about supernatural and mythical beasts and live in the lap of luxury for the rest of his life! What could be better than that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that thought in his head, Stiles pushes back from his desk. A glance at the time shows him that it is nearing too late an hour, and he knows that he needs to wake early enough for one last proofread over the new article before he posts it at 12 o’clock sharp tomorrow. Sighing, he quickly changes into some ratty pajama pants and an old t-shirt before lying down to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few hours later, Stiles slowly wakes suddenly. For a second, he just lies in place, half awake and not really registering anything out of the ordinary. Just as he begins to drift back off to sleep, however, he hears a tell-tale creak from the floor just underneath his window. That spot, Stiles knows, always creaks no matter how lightly one steps on it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Someone is in here,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone is totally breaking into my house right now! And they definitely chose my window to do it through!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles does his best to regulate his breathing, keeping it slow and calm as he weighs his options. There is always the chance that it’s just his dad, coming in to check on him after coming home from his overnight shift. However, it seems far too dark in here for it to be time for that yet. His window is also on the opposite side of the room from his bedroom door, and his dad would have little reason to cross all the way over there instead of just glancing in at him from the hallway to make sure he actually went to bed and wasn’t trying to pull yet another all-nighter. The next most likely option would be that he had simply imagined the creak. He was half asleep when he had heard it, after all, and he’s certain that his sleep dulled mind had come up with crazier things that a floor creak in the past. That option, though, didn’t really feel right either. He obviously hadn’t looked to see yet, but it was almost like he could just </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> a presence, hovering there at the end of his bed. He even thought, if he strained hard enough, that he might be able to hear quiet breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lay there in silence for a bit longer, trying to convince himself either to look and see what was going on, or to simply ignore it and hope that his second theory was correct, and he had made everything up. Just as he was finally pushing himself towards the latter, he heard it again. Another creak, in very nearly the same spot, maybe just a step or so in front of the last one. Slowly, hesitantly, Stiles rolls over, glancing at the end of his bed just long enough to catch a glimpse of brightly glowing blue eyes. Reacting quickly, he leaps out of bed and towards his nightstand. With one hand, he grabs his phone, sliding it into the pockets of his pants, thanking his lucky stars that he had happened to put on the one pair of pajamas he owned that actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> pockets in them. With his other hand, he grabs the wooden baseball bat leaning up against the wall next to the nightstand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whipping around with the intent to brandish the bat at this unknown intruder, Stiles feels the rug beneath his feet slide, causing his feet to slide out from underneath him before he hits the floor stomach first, with enough force to knock the wind out of him. As Stiles lies there for a second, regaining his breath, he thinks he hears the intruder quietly laugh under their breath, the sound of which causes Stiles to be filled with rage. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare </span>
  </em>
  <span>this person- or thing, he thinks, slightly hysterically, based on the unusually bright eyes- break into the Sheriff’s house, through Stiles’ window, scaring the life out of him, and still have the audacity to </span>
  <em>
    <span>laugh</span>
  </em>
  <span> at him, even though they’ve just been caught red-handed?! With renewed fervor, Stiles takes hold of the bat once again, shoving himself to his feet, ready to charge the asshole standing in his room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finds his footing and begins to rush the intruder. Before he makes it more than a couple feet, however, the stranger moves with seemingly inhuman speed. They have a hand wrapped around his throat faster than Stiles can even blink (and- shit- does he feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>claws </span>
  </em>
  <span>digging in?), pushing him backwards, shoving him up against the wall behind him. Stiles drops the bat, reflexively grasping the wrist restraining him, though thankfully still allowing him to breathe. He glances up, looking at the entire face of this mystery person for the first time, actually looking past the goddamn light bulbs apparently embedded in their eye sockets, to find an even more shocking sight staring back at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They have a broad, protruding forehead, thick, bushy sideburns bordering their face, and, most surprising of all, long, sharp canines jutting out from between their lips. As Stiles stares, uncomprehending (because, seriously, it’s like 3 am! How is he supposed to find coherent thoughts about </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>at 3 am?), the person huffs another quiet laugh at Stiles’ shocked face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M. Stilinski, I presume?” They say, “I need you to come with me. We need to talk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stiles, eyes wide, stares for a couple seconds more. Lightly squeezes the wrist holding him by the throat. Takes a deep breath. And then, just as he opens his mouth to start screaming, he sees the person’s (creature’s?) eyes widen, almost as if in panic, and their other hand flies up, colliding with his temple with a sudden burst of pain before everything goes black.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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